San Miguel, Guatemala
You can’t speak mine
so I’ll try to speak yours.
Aburrido you said. Bored
when the other guests
spoke only English & you were
left alone working at the bar
with nothing but sky & Lago
Peten Itza lit like a carnival.
Aburrido. Your eyes bore into
mine. You look so cansado. Not
tired, but your eyes always water
red, burning to wear glasses.
Es muy caro. You said, always.
Expensive. Books, pills, trips
to the ocean. Caro. Expensive.
your face inked lake dark.
Face. Cara. Do you want a photo?
We walked high to El Mirador
San Miguel peninsula stretching
like horizon. No, estoy muy feo.
Ugly. I should have said I like
your face. Lo siento. Sorry.
Literally, I feel it. I wish I could
bring you to the US. As I sit here
at the open bar wishing for home
and other homes, I know that
longing for a world out of reach.
I feel it. But I’ve left, felt the flex
of different soil, I was born happy
in a right place and still I tell you
I don’t have much money. Mira.
Let’s look at the lake & imagine.